Collection
by MagikCat
Summary: Theodore knew his magpie tendencies would soon be the ruin of him.  Originally written in 2009  Theodore Nott/Daphne Greengrass


_**A/N: **__I'm trying to make sure all my fics are here, so I hope you don't mind the lateness. This was the fic I wrote for a friend's birthday back in Aug 2009. _

Theodore had always been a bit of a magpie for as long as he could remember. As a child, it had been little things that had interested him: a button, a piece of soft blue cloth, a shiny bell—anything that looked or felt nice in his hand he kept in a shoe box under his bed. He never told his father about them, because he knew it wouldn't be long before it would be destroyed in one of his drunken rages. When he was locked in his room, Theodore liked to take the treasures out and lay flat on his belly as he played with them on the bed.

As he got older, he became more selective in what he collected: a slightly rusted pocket knife he had found in the park, a few shoe laces, a pair of tweezers, a small plastic card he had seen his cousin open a locked door with—odds and ends "just in case", some of which bordered rather close to thievery. If someone left it behind and didn't come back for it right away, he simply plucked it for himself as he walked by.

He should've known it would soon be the ruin of him. Greengrass saw to that.

At first, it had been a rather nice macaw feather quill Daphne had left behind after a bout of potions tutoring during their fourth year. It was an impractical writing tool, but the colors were nice. And he had had fun with her despite himself—she was witty and treated him like a human being rather than someone to be scorned at. He knew perfectly well that she was probably doing it so he wouldn't complain about tutoring her, but it felt nice, anyway.

It didn't take long to realize that Daphne kept all kinds of exotic quills—most of them terrible writing tools, but still interesting. Soon Theodore had quills belonging to a horned owl, a peacock, an emu, and a flamingo that he kept in a small hat box. He felt guilty sometimes, because it seemed a lot more like stealing when was from someone he knew, but he always pushed it away.

To his disappointment, Daphne started using the normal goose feather quills when she kept losing her fancy ones.

"There's no use in using them if I'm only going to write with them once," she explained when he casually asked about it.

Theodore didn't take anything more from Daphne until almost six months later, and by then they had gone from studying partners to friends. She had left the bottle of nail polish she had used that morning in the common room. It was pale pink—the same as Daphne's cheeks—and something about it made him smile. He didn't realize he had tucked it in his pocket until he had been changing into his pajamas.

His collection of Daphne's things increased over the following year. Stealthily, it had stopped being just in case he needed it, but by the time he became fully aware of it he was unable to stop himself. He didn't even wait for her to fully leave the room anymore, and usually replaced it with a doppelganger he Transfigured. A letter to her mum, her hairbrush, a photograph.

Theodore had to stop—this wasn't right. This wasn't _sane_. But he couldn't help himself—it was as though the things she left behind were some kind of addicting drug he couldn't get enough off.

It brought a whole knew set of realizations right before Christmas in his sixth year. A festive scarlet ribbon had fallen out of her golden hair while she had been dozing on the sofa, leaving it behind when she went to the dormitories. Almost without thinking, he picked it up. It was long and soft to the touch, and he noticed tiny little snowflakes were stitched into it. He caught of whiff of the aroma that had been in the Amortentia a few months previously.

Slowly, he brought it to his nose, and he caught the sweet smell of honeysuckle. He breathed in slowly, letting it fill his senses. It was as though Daphne's hair was right under him—almost as though she were leaning her back against his slim chest….

He dropped the ribbon on the floor like a hot cauldron. No no no no no….This couldn't be happening!

But it had. It was. The truth of it hit him with the force of a giant's fist. Theodore let out a groan at the trap he had unwittingly fallen into: he fancied Daphne. Fancied her quite badly if he was not mistaken.

This…this just complicated everything. Daphne was the only _real_ friend he had. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed her. He needed her wit, her presence, her smile that she only gave to him. He wasn't willing to throw it all away just because he couldn't keep his head on straight.

Besides, Daphne was supposed to go out with out with people like Blaise—not a skinny, bespectacled Death Eater's son. If she ever guessed his thoughts, she'd just laugh and then he'd be humiliated twice over.

That would be that. He would forget such foolish fantasies and treat Daphne like he always had. And he wouldn't take anymore of her stuff.

With that, he got up to go to bed, and halfway to the door he stopped, and looked at the ribbon on the floor. Quickly he went back and pocketed it. Last time, he told himself.

~~~* ~~~* ~~~*

It seemed unfair that as soon as he made the promise, Daphne seemed to be leaving her stuff everywhere. Theodore managed to keep his vow, but almost everyday was a battle on his self-control. Three times he tried throwing his collection of Daphne's things away, only to not be able to go through with it. He treated Daphne like he always had, though did not explain why he was so surly every time a boy asked her out. She liked sneaking out of the castle, so she usually accepted. To his relief, however, none of these dates lasted very long.

But his seventh year was taking a toll on him. Between the Carrows and trying to keep his head down and step away from his father's legacy, his self-control was stretched to the limit.

He came in late after making potions for the hospital wing, and on the way to his room he saw it.

The flowered scarf Daphne had tied over her head that day.

It sat tantalizingly over the arm of the sofa, and he fought against it for a moment, but his self-control was shot and the desire was too overwhelming.

Slowly, as if in a trance, he walked towards it and lifted it with his hand. It was made of silk, and colored a dark, emerald green—Daphne's favorite color. He brought it in front of his face. The smell of the ribbon had long faded, and the familiar aroma of honeysuckle all became too much. He pushed it against his nose, as though wanting to inhale it within him. It was soft and familiar and wonderful and—

"Ah ha!"

Theodore jumped, whirling around and hiding the scarf behind his back. Daphne slinked from behind the door leading to the girl's dormitory. She looked vastly triumphant—like a cat that had cornered a rat.

Shame and revolution at himself filled him at the sight, and for the first time he could remember, his face was burning hotter than a stovetop. How could he let himself get _caught_?

"What do you want?" he snarled. His insides lurched; he had never spoken to her that way.

Daphne paused, looking slightly surprised at his harsh tone, both otherwise unaffected. "I knew it was you," she said, smirking. "You're a hard man to catch."

"Catch doing what?" he asked gruffly, as though denying it would make it less true.

With a gently raised eyebrow, she walked so close to Theodore that she had to look up into his face and her smell was even better on Daphne than on her things. It took every once of willpower not to wrench her head to him and….

He held back a groan of disappointment as she reached an arm behind him to take the headscarf from his hand.

She didn't step away—if anything, she took a tiny step closer. Her closeness and smell and his draining self-control was driving him to the brink, and he was afraid his bones might explode at any moment.

"You fancy me, don't you?" she asked softly.

Theodore's silence was answer enough. And something…something like relief flashed in her eyes—so quickly he wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't known her so well. Her hand came up his chest. "Good." She smirked slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Well? Are you going to kiss me or not?

He couldn't take it anymore. With a growl of sheer frustration, he grabbed Daphne's face and yanked it to meet his. His bones did explode then. Or was that just the roar in his ears? It didn't matter—all that mattered was that he was kissing the girl that had wanted for ages and that it was heaven because she was kissing him back. Sweet Salazar she was kissing him _back_! His one or two previous kisses had been chaste and quick and awkward, nothing—_nothing_—like this. She seemed to realize this, because it wasn't long before she took the broom handle, so to speak, and he was more than willing to let her for now.

And when air became necessary and he pulled his face away, he had to stop himself from grinning. Daphne giggled, playing with the hair that hung over his eyes. "If I had known that's all that was needed for you to kiss me, I'd done it ages ago."

Suddenly he frowned as a thought occurred to him, and he tightened his hold around her. "This isn't a one time thing, Daphne," he told her fiercely. "I don't want to be one of your pets you can show off one week and toss out the next." The thought of it sent a dagger to his heart, but he determinedly plowed on. "This has got to be for the long run or not at all." The thing about Slytherins was that they may not show as much emotion as the other houses, but once they had something they desired they did not give it up easily.

She smiled, and there was triumph in her eyes again. "Well, Mr. Nott—considering that I was showing off the boys to see you get jealous, that won't be an issue."

Others might have been offended by this, but he knew her conniving streak too well to be much shocked by it. It didn't mean he'd let her go unpunished if he could help it.

And as Theodore savagely attacked her neck, listening to her moans, he used the distraction to summon the scarf she had dropped to the floor and pocket it.

Because if one day things eventually went the way he was hoping they would, he might need it.


End file.
